


From The Valley, To The Stars

by twentysixlettercombinations



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentysixlettercombinations/pseuds/twentysixlettercombinations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the 100, because the story is ours now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was speaking to my sister because I was out of my mind devastated with how Jason had treated Lexa - how Jason treated us. But she said to me "Writing is art, and what shapes and creates a piece of art is what you take from it, in the end what happens in the story is what you make of it, and what a show puts out there is yours to do what you want with. What you take from it is so much more relevant than whatever the fuck his intentions were." In short: screw you Jason, we are telling our own fucking story.

‘We don’t have to talk at all’ Clarke teases, a smile tugs at her lips and Lexa has nothing to say in response - she simply smiles too and turns so she is on top of Clarke, their warm bodies pressing together - kissing her softly in the light of the sun pouring through the window.

 And it's so heartbreaking, Clarke thinks, this girl; she shoulders the weight of the world, taught brutality and pure survival from birth _and yet,_ Lexa is the most gentle being she has ever met. She holds Clarke in the palm of her hands like she is afraid she will break if she is too rough, and as her kisses travel further down Clarke's body, Clarke takes a moment to wonder how a world like this, that prides itself on teaching the exact opposite, has created something as beautiful and caring as Lexa.

 Clarke sees stars once more as she strains against the bed, gripping the surrounding sheets.

 Lexa comes up for air and though she knows that this warmth inside of her is temporary, she does not care. In this moment she is warm and she cannot remember how long it has been since she could feel this way. She has spent so long being a stone cold leader, feeling all too many emotions but refusing to let them show other than in the dead of night, alone in her room - spilling tears upon the surface of her dresser. For this moment, she is warm, and not alone anymore - and she smiles again at the thought, moving to lie next to clarke and hearing her breathing return to normal. A laugh spills from her throat and it feels foreign, her vocal chords stiff - like running after spending years lying down. But she laughs, a quiet, breathy tone - and Clarke is looking at her, and for some reason her chest aches as she reaches for Lexa’s hand, cupping her jaw with the other and kissing her slowly - she wants to live in this moment forever. Clarke maps out the shape and taste of Lexa’s lips, tracing her lower lip with her tongue and sucking gently on her upper lip.

 They eventually pull apart, and when they do, Clarke looks down at Lexa and can see her eyes flicker open. There are tears clouding both of their eyes and when Clarke blinks, two drop onto her lover's cheeks.

 “I’m sorry,”

 Clarke returns to a sitting position, furs covering her chest and back leaning against the headboard of the bed. This is reminiscent of when she woke up next to Niylah, only this time when she looked down, the girl next to her was not asleep - but gazing up at her intently concerned, awaiting sentence continuation. “I do not want to leave Polis,” she pauses again, softer; “I don’t want to leave you.”

 It hurts both to say it and to hear it. Lexa waits before responding,

 “I know.”

 It’s the best she can offer, and it is what attracted them to each other in the first place. All Lexa can offer to Clarke is pure understanding of the rift between them, they cannot belong to each other - they belong to their people, no matter how much they may wish otherwise. She presses a kiss to Clarke’s forehead, who tries, fails to stop more tears from seeping out from her closed eyes.

 “You need to get dressed.” Lexa’s tone is resigned, and as Clarke nods and moves towards her trail of discarded clothes, pulling on her underwear; “Let me help.”

 It’s a simple gesture of comfort, and Clarke sees deeper within it, this was not just about putting fabric over her body - _let me build you up again, let me help you face them and become who you have to be._

 “Okay.”

 “ _Skaikru_ undergarments confuse me.” Lexa grunts, having pulled on her own bra-like bindings, she frowns at Clarke’s. Clarke merely laughs, pulls the straps over her shoulders and does the clasp up, chuckling further at Lexa’s face. Next came the top, though Lexa takes a moment to pepper kisses along her collarbone and neck, drinking in as much clarke as she could, before gently pulling the top on. Clarke pulls her trousers on herself, as does Lexa, and they stand and stare for a moment - unsure of what to do next.

“I-”

 Lexa turns her back and fumbles with a box next to her bed for a few moments, before reaching for something, then closing her fist - concealing its contents from view. Her head is slightly bowed as she turns and walks towards Clarke. She stops before her and opens her palm. Upon it lay a small dagger that Clarke recognised from when they first met - Lexa had been playing with it on her throne. “To protect you, when I cannot, and-”

 There was a second object in Lexa’s hand, a small necklace with a hand crafted charm - dark blue fading into black, specks of white flecked across the pendant. It looked to be holding a part of the galaxy within it. “I had this made by the finest jeweller in Polis when I arrived home from the mountain, he calls it _gon sheidgeda skai”_

 “Of the night sky” Clarke murmurs, closing her eyes, opening them to look at the pendent again. “It is beautiful.” Lexa dares to look up, and when she does Clarke sees that her face is slightly flushed at the top of her cheeks. She stumbles slightly to move behind her, clasping the necklace - her breath hot upon her neck.

 “Thank you.”

 Clarke turns to face her. Pure desperation and devastation wrought across her features, a battleground between her heart and head - something she is sure is mirrored in her own. A step forward and she is in Lexa’s space again and all she can see is her eyes, she reaches up, tangles her hands Lexa’s already messy hair. And she kisses her, similar to how they did when Clarke stepped into this room earlier. Gasping, messy and desperate. A whisper of goodbye and hearts full of sorrow and pain from a world that seems determined to tear them apart. Both girls tears mingle with each other, and neither are sure how long they spend like this - it could be minutes, it could be years. Clarke loses herself within Lexa, she pushes hard against her, pouring all the words she cannot say into the kiss - hoping that she will understand. When Lexa finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against Clarke’s, chest heaving and breath hot. Clarke steps back.

 “I guess this is goodbye.”

 “For now.”

 Hope is a foreign emotion to Lexa, but she welcomes it.

 “May we meet again?” She poses this as a question, rather than a statement, awaiting confirmation.

 “We always do.” Clarke waits a beat, denying that this has to happen, procrastinating it for just a moment longer with Lexa. “ _Leidon, Heda”_

 She begins to walk towards the door.

 “Clarke, I-”

 Lexa chokes on the unspoken words of earlier, though she has not looked, she can feel Clarkes eyes burning on her body. She closes her eyes, looks up at the ceiling, open. Heda can love nobody.

 “Clarke, be safe.”

 Clarke nods, and leaves.

 Lexa squeezes her eyes shut, preventing any further emotion from spilling out as she hears Clarke shut the door behind her. She takes a step towards the window, bracing herself against its frame and tries not to scream, scream about how unfair her position was, or scream for Clarke to come back. Here she remains, until Titus comes and informs her that Wanheda has left, along with Octavia. He is humble when he approaches her, Lexa's words from earlier have left him with little to say.

 “ _Wanheda_ has departed from Polis, _Heda”_ He speaks softly, as if walking on eggshells.

 Lexa turns, looking him dead in the eye.

 “ _Sha, Titus. Mochof.”_

 He half bows, half nods, and leaves. Lexa sighs, heaving herself towards her bed, her body weary with sleep. A slight roll to the right and she can smells Clarke upon her blankets, Clarke upon her pillows, Clarke upon her skin. She nearly cries out, grabbing the sheet and pulling it close, her gut wrenching in worry and longing - nearly choking upon the scent.

Lexa gasps, blowing a silent scream into the night, fingers reaching out and grasping nothing but cold air. And Lexa thinks that now she has never felt more alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke and Octavia had been riding for a day, resting at sundown after tethering the horses to a nearby tree. The pair had not exchanged any words - just silent communications through hand gestures and body language, and this left Clarke with time to think, and the more she thought, the more she hated it. 

_ ‘Maybe someday, you and I will owe nothing more to our people’ _

It aches like a bell tolling, not just in her chest but everywhere. Clarke knew what she meant when she said it - she knew that they were likely to be at war again, Pike and Bellamy would not obey The Commander, and her and Lexa were going to be at war with each other on opposing sides,  _ again. _

When night came, Clarke lay on the ground as Octavia started a fire - she clearly belonged here far more than she ever did in the sky. Octavia would have easily aced earth skills, had she been allowed out of her quarters. Clarke mentally shook her head - she had been in solitary for a year, that was near enough to drive her crazy, yet Octavia has been cooped up all her life and still, she has her head firmly screwed on. She blows into the growing flame - pushing away the dark of the night, and Clarke instinctively shuffles towards the heat, her body numb from just a few moments on the ground.

‘Thank you, Octavia.’

Clarke breaks the silence surrounding them, for she fears if she had left it any longer it would have suffocated her. Octavia huffs in return, settling onto a tree stump next to the horses, elevated above Clarke. She looks at her, studies her, her gaze feels calculating and cold - Clarke squirms beneath it.

“That is Lexa’s knife.”

She comments, her tone is harsh and she tilts her head upwards slightly, though her eyes remained narrowed, fixated on Clarke. Clarke swallows;

‘It is.’

Octavia rises and turns to scan the trees, her fists balled and her jaw clenches as she moves her head to look back over her shoulder at Clarke.

“You love her.”

Clarke feels as if she has been slammed in the chest by a ton weight. She remembers Lexa’s  _ almost  _ confession when she first came to her room to say goodbye, and how Lexa tried again to say the three words as she left - but the words had stuck in Lexa’s throat both times.  She wonders if that had been their last chance. She pushes the thought away as rapidly as it had came about, as bile was quickly rising in her throat at the mere idea of it. Octavia’s eyes still bore into her, and Clarke gives a quick hint of a nod in response - vocalizing it, that would only make it more real. Clarke reaches for a twig on the ground and fiddles with it between her fingertips, moving to a sitting position - her eyes unmoving, gazing straight into the flames. Though they dance within her pupils, they are deadened. It is said that eyes are the key to the soul - Octavia can see straight into Clarke, and can see the storm within her.

Clarke is lost in thought, only coming back to her senses when Octavia sits across the fire from her. Her expression has softened slightly, eyebrows raised in a comforting manner, and jaw slackened. “She loves you too.”

Clarke presses her lips together. Hard. Yet another tear falls from her eye and she makes no effort to wipe it away, she takes a shuddering breath in, before heaving out a reply.

“Too bad the world doesn't love us back.”

Her response echoes bitterness and anger - it hurts as it rolls off her tongue and Clarke aches once more to lay down on the floor and weep until she runs out of tears. Octavia chews her lower lip, before looking down, returning with an almost woeful expression upon her face - sympathy.

“Maybe.. maybe someday it will. Goodnight, Clarke.”

Octavia turns her back and Clarke remains awake, her words ringing in her head.

_ Maybe Someday… _

Clarke wants to vomit.

Still, she lies down and gazes upwards - she looks at where she once came from and she wonders if Lexa spent her youth looking at the stars, the same way Clarke spent her childhood looking at the ground. A part of her want to believe that they were intertwined from the beginning - two souls from a past life, trying to find each other in the next. She seeks comfort in the fact that now she and Lexa lie under these same stars, and that no matter where this world takes them - this simple fact cannot be changed. Clarke turns onto her left side, forcing her way inside the memory of her and Lexa lying close on her bed, tracing Lexa’s tattoos, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She replays the memory over and over, her body eventually growing heavy and her eyes drowsy - falling away into the land of sleep.

 

**___________________**

 

Lexa has barely slept. She accepts this, though it is a bitter pill to swallow - being  _ Heda _ means she cannot afford be unalert during her duties. But this time is different. It reminds her of when she first arrived in Polis after freeing the grounders from the mountain, or when the 12 clans had been reunited, at the expense of Costia. Her people were out in the streets, releasing lanterns into the sky, signifying a war that had been won.

Lexa had not felt victorious at all.

She had stood alone at the top of the tower in the centre of the grounder capitol - knuckles going white as she gripped the fencing at the edge of the balcony, the lights of the lanterns were merely specks through her weeping eyes. She remained for hours, allowing the cold to seep into her bones, while those beneath her celebrated - artificial warmth from the alcohol on their lips, breaking out into stupid bouts of laughter. Instead of joining, she always watched the lanterns float away until they blended with the stars, become part of the endless cosmos above her in their own right.

She had remained there all night, watching the sunrise as the last citizens retired to their beds.

This night is the same, Lexa rises from lying down, having spent hours awake, staring at the ceiling. She sits upright for a moment on her bed, massaging her temples before padding towards her door - it opens with a slight creak, and Lexa slips through the gap. She has to climb a small set of stairs to reach the throne room, and beyond the throne is the balcony. The wooden floor is cold against her bare feet, goosebumps rising on her arms as she almost cradles herself with her crossed limbs - Lexa thinks she should have changed into something warmer, rather than the simple, skin-tight shorts and white lacy vest she is currently sporting, displaying her tattooed arm and infinity sign on the back of her neck.

One lone torch illuminates the room - the decorations upon the walls with an eery lilt to them in this light, whittled wood and paintings hang upon the wall, with a crimson carpet leading towards her throne, which casts shadows across the floor, along with her silhouette as she steps outside onto the balcony.

Even though she had anticipated it, the cold takes Lexa by surprise - audibly gasping, before simply further crossing her arms. She looks to the left, gazing out over the capitol - the wind from this height is strong, and it whips wildly through her unbraided curls - her hair is matted from hours of tossing and turning. The sky is beginning to lighten, and although it is beautiful, Lexa has a lump in her throat - knowing that she may well have lost Clarke again. Her teeth are gritted and her fingers curl into loose fists as she thinks - the ache in her chest only growing with every second she spends here. She surveys the early risers of Polis, wishing with all her heart that she could promise them safety, yet here they stand on the brink of another war. The markets of Polis are restocking by candlelight, though the rest remain asleep within their homes.

Another chill ripples through her body, and this time she is not sure if it is the cold. She heaves a sigh from deep within her, and returns inside, shoulders slumped in dismay at what the new day holds. Today she must answer to the ambassadors of the twelve clans. She brushes the thought off for now though, and treads softly down the short flight of stairs towards her room, where she rests her head against the warmth of her pillows, sinking into the furs. She finally falls into a fitful sleep, wrought with nightmares and heartache - Clarke's face appears far more than she would admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanted to apologize for the short chapters - things are pretty hectic for me right now but I am trying to fit this in roughly once a week. But I hope you enjoyed the chapter loves <3


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa wakes to sunlight streaming through her window. She groans at her head, throbbing from lack of sleep. A glance at the position of the sun tells her that it is still early - she must have slept a couple of hours maximum. 

But still, she gets up slowly, steadying herself on her bedframe - blood rushing to her head before stumbling towards her dresser. As she slides on the buckles that hold her clothing in place - there is an indefinite change in atmosphere. It’s as if Lexa is pouring cement over cracks in her armour - the weight lies heavy within her, though she appears indestructible.

Once dressed, she moves to a bathroom type room - its walls are panelled, supported by timber beams. The room is windowless, apart from a small hatched square between two of the beams opposite Lexa, far above anyone's eyeline. The fresh light of the day is spilling through it though, illuminating the room in a range of yellow hues. Various different whittlings of wood adorn the walls - a sword takes centrepiece opposite the door frame - while the mirror above the sink is clearly handcrafted. The room has a small bath on the left of the door, while a cabinet with etchings of various symbols sits on the right, next to the sink. The floor is wooden also, creaking underneath Lexa as she steps towards the mirror.

She looks at her reflection and refuses to shudder at the ghosts there, her eyes are tired but resolute, despairing but determined - the bags under them tell the tale of her troubled night but her resolve was strength, she clenches her jaw before reaching to splash her face with water. After, she begins to braid a strand of hair. She plaits two medium sized strands either side of her face, before pinning them past her ears, on the back of her head. These push any remaining strands away from her face, and she decides that this should be enough for today. Lexa pats away any remaining moisture from her face, before swiftly leaving, past her bed and out past her bedroom doors towards her throne room.

She is instantly met by a chorus of “ _ Heda!”  _  when she steps into the room, before all bow before her. Lexa refuses to look up - she knows that Titus will be to her right when she sits on her throne, she simply does not wish to gratify him with acknowledgment. The ambassadors then rise.

“Ambassadors, all  _ Skaikru  _ are now behind the blockade,”

The room stills at Lexa’s voice, cool and clear, even though she does not speak at a high volume, her voice reverberates within the walls. She swallows, pausing to take time to survey the people before her. “Any sky person who so chooses to step over the boundary we have set is therefore willingly submitting to their fate - and they shall be subject to a kill order.”

The first to speak is the Desert Clan. A older, dark haired man with a thin scar running along the base of his right cheekbone steps forward.

“Why are they not dead,  _ Heda? Jus Drein, Jus Daun.”  _

Lexa turns slightly, facing him square on.

“The only reason that another village was not massacred by  _ Skaikru, _ was because of  _ Skaikru. _ ”

A low murmur ripples throughout the ambassadors, though they fall to silence as Lexa raises her hand. “A good majority of the sky people are innocent - punishing an entire clan for the acts of a few is unjust. ‘ _ Jus Drien Jus Daun’  _ can only apply to the guilty, otherwise we will all end up dead. The blockade gives the sky people time to take out the guilty, and fix their mistakes.”

“And if they don’t?”

This time it is the representative of the Broadleaf clan, a young woman, short hair with brown braids twisted underneath dirty blonde, top layer bleached by many days spent in the sun. She poses this question - not through aggression but through uncertainty. Lexa instantly responds.

“They will. We will make sure of it.”

The unspoken threat was there, as it had to be. “Further discussion will be required as events unfold in Arkadia, but this is all for now.”

Each ambassador bows in turn, before leaving in an orderly fashion - leaving Lexa and Titus alone.

Only now does Lexa look at him, his features are partially encased in shadow, partially bathed in the light from the window behind Lexa’s throne. Lexa now rises, tilting her head to regard her protector with some scrutiny.

“Do you have something to say to me, Titus?”

He meets her gaze, though once he has spoken, he wavers.

“Even now, you are still protecting her and her people.”

Lexa’s gaze instantly hardens. Titus cannot maintain eye contact.

“ _ Ai laik heda.”  _ Muscles in her neck visibly tense as she spits out her words.

“And you need to trust that I know what I am doing.” 

She throws him a final look of almost anger, before striding past Titus, out of the room -  the swish of her coat stirring the air around him.

**___________________**

Clarke and Octavia arrived at the gates of Arkadia just as the first signs of sunlight began to spill across the horizon. The guards on post glared at them, though recognised them and let them in. 

The place is blanketed in silence - apart from the guards unlucky enough to be on patrol at this hour, there are no people awake, all within their quarters. The two girls follow the worn down path, further into the walls of the settlement. As they turn a corner, Octavia turns to Clarke.

“You should go to Abby’s quarters. She deserves to see you.”

Clarke swallows thickly before nodding.

“We need to meet in the morning, somewhere where we can discuss without being heard.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Octavia gives a nod before they part ways.

Clarke walks inside, taking care to minimize the noise she makes  - she follows the curve of what used to be section 16, now a corridor on the ground.  The place is dimly lit by bulbs situated at each door, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Clarke keeps walking until she reaches what she believes to be her Mother's quarters; she is not entirely sure though, and hopes that she won’t be faced by a relative stranger when she lightly raps on the door.

There is the sound of light footsteps and the flick of a lightswitch, before the door is opening and Clarke is face to face with her mother again.

It happens slowly, Abby’s eyes begin to widen, then her mouth drops slightly - she looks as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

“Clarke?”

She falls into Abby’s arms instinctively, the gentle press of her Mother’s body against her and the soft comfort of her arms around her has Clarke in tears for the third time in the past twenty four hours. Abby moves her hand up to cup the back of Clarke’s head against her shoulder, whispering comforts to her as she cried softly against her.

They remain like that for a fair few minutes, when Clarke finally lets go, she wipes her eyes and looks up - Abby runs her thumbs over her daughter's cheeks, wiping away tears Clarke had missed. She takes her hand and leads her over the threshold into her room.

“We need to talk,” Abby raises her eyebrows at this, though she allows Clarke to continue. “But not now. In the morning with Octavia and some others.”

Abby turns and slumps back onto her bed,

“There are some nightshirts over there.”

She gestures to a small pair of cupboard doors embedded in the wall - Clarke opened them, finding soft, woollen tops and cotton sweatpants. After deliberating for a moment, she settles on a blue, long sleeved woolen top, as it was rather cool in the room, and a pair of grey sweatpants that rested just at the top of her hips. She goes and lies next to her mother, though she brings her grey shirt from the day with her.

Abby falls asleep quickly, her breathing slows against Clarke’s neck. Clarke, however, after sleeping for a few hours before arriving at Arkadia - is a little more awake. She holds her shirt from earlier close - it smells of earth, but also smells of Polis and that brings her comfort. SHe refuses to think about what the following day will bring - instead carefully shuffling closer to her Mother - her presence next to her is pleasant and it soothes her - acting as an almost shield from her duties for a moment, and that moment of Peace is enough to allow her to fall into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The first few chapters of this have been a bit fillery i know, but i have a sort of plan for a plot that will start to kick off next chapter I promise, thank you for reading loves <3


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